


Crooked Teeth and Highway Signs

by unicornsandphoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clubbing, Don't worry, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Godric's Hollow, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Songfic, a shameful lack of magic except where it was convenient, as if i could bring myself to do that to you are even me, missing gryffindor courage, muggle song shenanigans, my lack of talent for tagging is astounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandphoenix/pseuds/unicornsandphoenix
Summary: Harry brings Draco along on his annual drive down to visit his parents’ grave. From impromptu dance sessions and screaming matches to pining idiots and a car named Betsy, will these two ever figure it out? (Hint: when do they ever not?) Based largely off of the songIs There Somewhereby Halsey.





	Crooked Teeth and Highway Signs

**Author's Note:**

> I could not in _my entire life_ give enough thanks to the people who helped make this story happen. First, of course, the largest thank you to the mods who organised this fest and who allowed me to submit my fic when I did (you guys are the best, truly). Second, to my biggest supporter for this story and the most amazing friend I could ever fucking ask for. I love you, and thank you for being my alpha reader, Sherry (look her up @yesiamawriter)  <3\. Third, I want to give a screaming applause for my wonderful beyond belief beta, Vi (Look her up @violetclarity). You honestly push me to do my very best with each and every interaction we have, and I cannot thank you enough for being as amazing as you are and allowing me to actually get some goodness out of my struggles. Another thank you must absolutely go out to my prompter, for the beautiful song choice. I adored working this song into a fic. A final, _important_ thank you goes out to all of my readers, without whom I would just be sad and sitting in a dark room cackling to myself and driven to insanity. Thank you all, you are all the stars shining in my skies.
> 
> This fic is based off of the song _Is there Somewhere_ by Halsey, which can be found here.

It took one month for Lucius Malfoy to be sentenced to Azkaban for life.

It took two months for Harry to bring the Wizengamot to an agreement about the dire and precarious situation that Draco Malfoy and his mother were in during Voldemort's reign. It took two years for the trials to be over. It took three years for Draco and Harry to put aside their differences, four years for Harry to realize he was in love, and four point five years for them to be attached at the hip, even if it was not in the way Harry would have liked. It had taken three years for Harry's annual visit to Godric’s Hollow to be called his annual pilgrimage by his friends, but only one year to know that he preferred to do it alone.

It took five years before he felt comfortable enough to take someone with him to see his parents.

"I still don't understand why you are so excited about a _road trip_ , Potter." Draco was levitating straight, beautiful stacks of clothes into the pristine suitcase that Harry was _sure_ was designer, even though there really was no reason to have a _designer suitcase_ , especially when it would just get beat up anyways ("It's the _principle_ of the thing, Potter"), while simultaneously trying to stuff an entire lemon tart in his mouth.

Harry snorted. He lifted up a black shirt Draco had sorted out for him that he was sure was entirely too small, shrugged, and tossed it into his duffle. "It's the muggle _dream_. An open road, independence beyond belief, seeing the country. It was the only time when I was a kid that my uncle would be too preoccupied with the road to tell me off, and my aunt was too preoccupied with keeping Dudley from getting car sick to take over. We didn't do it often enough," Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco's toiletries, which he still needed to sort through ("Draco I can get my own shampoo, you idiot," "Potter, your hair doesn't look like it has even _met_ shampoo once in its life. I'm trying to _help_ you here"). He took a quick glance to make sure Draco was too busy choking on his lemon tart to notice as Harry shoved the shampoo and conditioner into his bag and the rest under Draco's bed.

They had arranged plans to leave right after work on Friday, after Draco packed that is, which would give them enough time to drive to a hotel for the night before arriving on Saturday to the grave. Harry had already packed before coming over to Draco's flat, but he had brought a second duffle of clothes because Draco had _insisted_ on looking through his clothes before they set off. The bloody prick.

Draco had stopped coughing and eyed the other lemon tarts on his bed suspiciously with a watery gaze. "I suppose I can see the appeal," he drawled, delicately picking up another one, completely contrary to how he shoved it right into his mouth.

Harry smiled to himself, enjoying the fact that Draco was comfortable enough with Harry to be this relaxed. It hadn't always been this easy, but for some reason Draco had seemed as determined as Harry, if not more, to become friends. Harry sometimes thought that the reason they had grown so close so quickly was because each were scared of not being able to be friends, and then later because neither knew how to be friends with _out_ being so determined to weasel their way into every nook and cranny of the other’s brain. And now, he didn't know how to stop being this close, this attached at the hip. It was part of the reason he had asked a slightly awed, and shockingly silent, Draco Malfoy on this trip in the first place. The other reason, well. He could keep that to himself. It was a secret he was only willing to share with his parents.

Harry had been hiding his feeling for five months, two days, and thirteen hours.

Harry hadn’t meant to fall in love. That night at the club still haunted his dreams (and his showers, though he wasn't ready to admit that to anyone but himself just yet). It had just passed midnight and Draco had been _drunk_. It was the first, and only, time Harry had ever seen Draco let himself be completely and utterly free. He was uninhibited, his body writhing _sinfully_ to the music , and the mass of bodies surrounding him could do nothing to distract Harry from the way the bright lights played with his hair, falling loosely around his eyes. His _eyes_ , which were sparklingly and mischievous as they flashed with colors. If Harry hadn't been in love at that point, he definitely was ten minutes later, as Draco saddled up to him at the bar, with his mouth set and eyes as focused as they could be given the amount of drinks they— _he_ —had had.

"Harry," Draco had said without preamble. "I have a secret to tell you. And you need to know now. You need, I need, I need to tell you." Harry had raised his eyebrows, never for one second having difficulty trying to hear Draco, even against the pounding music and the throbbing lyrics. Draco never called him Harry. Harry had asked about it once, but the only response he had gotten was a scoff with a "we are already getting too close, Potter. I have to put some distance between us, or Lord knows what will happen." Harry had been a little hurt by that, though he hadn't figured out why at the time.

"What is it, Draco?"

Draco sat heavily on a stool next to Harry, almost tipping it over. He sighed dramatically. "I Glamour my face every day. You need to know. Because. Because we can't, I can't, without you knowing, because if you don't know, then it wouldn't, couldn't last, and it would need to last. So you have to know. And I. I had to tell you. I had to." He looked expectantly at Harry, who was a little bit in shock. And also a lot bit confused.

"Ok," Harry said carefully. "So, am I allowed to see your face without the Glamour?”

Draco took a deep breath, and subtly swished his wand to reveal... Nothing. Nothing had changed. Harry's eyebrows drew together. "Draco? What is it? I don't see a difference."

Draco shot him a glare. He put his hand in front of his mouth. "Give me a second, I haven't shown anyone yet. Ever. I haven't shown anyone ever. You're the first one to know. You're my first, Harry." Draco was drunk off his rocker, Harry was certain. And then Draco lifted his hand and smiled, if a little uncertainty.

Harry stared.

Harry stared and stared and stared and stared. Harry was in love. Completely and utterly in love. And it as all the stupid teeth's fault. It started there, Harry decided later. It started with the crooked teeth in Draco's smile and the trust he had placed in Harry to show him the teeth.

Draco had changed so much in the time that Harry had gotten to know him. His hair had changed from slick and perfect, to soft and fluffy (though pretty damn near perfect if you were to ask Harry, which, thankfully, no one did). His language had changed, from mouthing off to snarky. He had changed from acting without consequences, to thinking only of the consequences. He changed from untouchable and immaculate, to real and tangible. He changed from untouched, model worthy skin, to a light dusting of freckles that had popped up after some time spent with Harry playing Quidditch in the sun at the Burrow. He had changed from Ron's biggest bully to one of his closest friends (don't ask, Harry was _still_ in awe about it and didn't want to question the good luck). And now, Draco had changed from having military straight, perfect teeth to two slightly crooked teeth on the top row, perfectly visible.

Draco closed his mouth, frowning as he drunkenly struggled off the bar stool to turn away from Harry. "I knew you wouldn't react well. No one would react well. Not well enough."

Harry couldn't do anything but get up in a flash, obviously not as drunk as he had thought, and pull on Draco's arm to catch him from tipping over and to turn him around to face Harry.

"That's what you've been hiding from me? A couple of crooked teeth?" Harry said softly, giving in to the temptation to trace Draco's jaw gently with his fingers. Draco was frozen, but seemed to be thawing the more Harry touched him. Harry was happy to oblige.

"They're ugly," came the muffled and slurred response.

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he recoiled a bit, causing Draco to fix his balance. "They're beautiful. It makes you seem real, approachable." Harry hesitated, but the smell of Draco's expensive cologne blocked his mind and he leaned in. "Can I tell you a secret, Draco?" Harry whispered, leaning in close to his ear. He was hyper aware of Draco, aware enough to sense the smallest nod from Draco's head. "I think that you should show them like this all the time. I like the real you better, I think." Draco's eyes widened and he smiled.

Harry, realizing that he was still holding on to Draco, let go in a flash and rubbed the back of his neck. Draco looked like he was about to say something, and Harry felt the air change between them. That is, until some pillcock bumped into Draco, spilling some of his drink on him.

"Oh! Sorry, mate. Oh, hello there," the man leered at Draco, having caught a glimpse of the actual god, in Harry's opinion, that he had crashed into.

Draco didn't seem like he could tear his eyes from Harry, however. Unrattled, he scoffed and bit out a short response, all the while staring at Harry.

"I'm not gay, move on."

That night, Harry died for the second time. He made quick excuses afterward, unable to look Draco in the eye again, and left. Draco had made some aborted movement to get to him, something akin to panic in his eyes, but Harry just hurried away. He allowed himself one last glance backwards into the club, looking at Draco who was standing still admits the flashing lights and pounding bass, among the scantily dressed bodies moving to the beat. Harry could not stay any longer, not when Draco looked like _that_ , not when Harry was tempted to show Draco just how gay _Harry_ was.

Ever since that night, though Draco refused to speak about it for some unknown reason, Draco had left off his Glamours whenever he was with Harry. There was no more hiding from each other. At least, not on Draco’s end. Harry would just have to hide his feelings for all of _forever_ , not that he was bitter or anything.

Looking back, Harry didn't know why he had been so utterly blindsided by the fact that Draco wasn’t gay. He knew Draco never dated, and all he could remember about Draco from Hogwarts (which was a lot), were Draco's rendezvous with Pansy. Harry had been so _stupid_ to think, even for a second, that he had a chance. Not with his luck.

Harry's track record with men could be summed up to a couple of drunken fumbles in Muggle bars in the first several years after the war. Always alone, always in secret. He wasn't hiding exactly, Ron and Hermione had accepted him without even a slight falter in their relationship, but it wasn't exactly as if he wanted to advertise his life more than it already was with the press and media. And recently, Harry couldn't bring himself to do anything with anyone. He was in too deep.

Harry glanced over at Draco, who had seemingly demolished the small pile of tarts and was now (seductively, Harry would like to point out) licking his fingers clean. Harry sighed and shook his head. He hadn’t meant to fall in love, but fall in love he did. Five months, two days, and fourteen hours. Harry had a feeling the next three days wouldn't be any easier.

__________________________________________

 

Harry had taught Draco how to drive a Muggle car four months ago (automatic of course, Harry didn't have any illusions to how anything more complicated would go over with Draco's short attention span when it came to Muggle contraptions, or as he liked to call them, “death boxes”), in an attempt to find an activity the two of them could do where Draco would be distracted enough not to notice Harry staring at him. Harry was running out of movies to show, and any activity the two of them started often turned into a group activity with the rest of their friends.

It had backfired significantly when Harry was too distracted by the way Draco was biting his lip in concentration (with his _crooked_ teeth, Merlin help him) to notice that Draco had not been briefed on _any_ of the Muggle traffic laws and was going 80 in a 40 zone. A quick confundus took care of the policewoman who had pulled them over, though making sure Draco went the speed limit was a challenge in itself from that moment forward.

Harry's old clunker of a car was bought off of eBay for £800 flat, and was magnificent only in the way that despite its outward appearance of rust and dents, it never seemed to fail to start. Draco had taken to affectionately naming it Betsy ("I'm pretty sure the Americans name old things Bessy, Draco." "Well it's a British car, is it not? It needs a British name instead. Propriety, Potter."). This was the car that Harry had taught Draco to drive with, the car that they snuck off with in the middle of the night when the nightmares returned–nevermind that they were both full grown adults and didn’t need to _sneak_ anywhere, the car that had taken Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Draco on an adventurous picnic which had ended in screams, bees, and a red substance no one knew the origin of. Most importantly, it was the car that safely shuttled Harry back and forth every year to his parents’ grave.

“You ready for this, Potter?” Draco said, clamoring out the apartment door and throwing a haphazard locking charm on it. Harry rolled his eyes and threw a stronger, very much bordering on illegal, industrial locking charm on the door instead and slid over to the driver’s seat (Draco wasn’t going to get robbed again by those dirty, self-proclaimed vigilantes, striking against reformed Death Eaters. No sir, not if Harry had anything to say about it; Draco had been acquitted of all charges for god’s sake).

Harry started up the engine and rolled down the passenger and back right window (the only two that could roll back up without magical intervention). Draco got comfy in his seat and slid sunglasses up his nose. “Let’s do this thing.”

Harry tore his gaze away from those chapstick covered lips and onto the road, revving the engine. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

__________________________________________

 

It had been a miscommunication. Harry and Malfoy weren't supposed to have shared a room. Harry was supposed to have been nice and safe in his own room. Safe from his own treacherous thoughts. He shivered. Malfoy was unpacking his bag on the other side of the room, placing things on the nightstand and getting ready for bed. Harry hadn't moved from where he’d sat down. He couldn't stop thinking about Draco.

It didn’t help that he had helplessly lost the argument for sleeping on the floor (and hadn't Harry been surprised at Draco’s “don’t be ridiculous, Potter. This is a queen size bed, plenty of room for the both of us.”). Draco’s perfect hair. His eyes, flashing against the blinding lights from the signs and advertisements they had passed while driving here. The way he would distract Harry at every _literal_ turn that Harry would take, almost getting them into accidents. And his smile. Oh Salazar his smile, with his fucking _crooked teeth_ (which Harry was still in shock about, that Glamour had been _impenetrable_ ), and all Harry could do was imagine those teeth biting his lips in concentration, running his tongue over—

"I'm gonna take a shower," Harry said abruptly. Draco nodded absentmindedly from where he was holding two books up for inspection, another book on the Muggle crusaders of the 1300s or the new paperback romance that Hermione had given him before they had started the trip (a guilty pleasure–Harry had asked about it once, and immediately fell silent at the haunty eyebrow and twitching nose that Draco had shot at him).

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he quickly made his way to the bathroom. God. It had never been this bad. Harry had always been able to control his feelings, to hide what he was thinking. A nice long wank. That was what he needed. If he could just… even with Draco in the other room… if the water was just loud enough…

Harry moaned as the water sliced through his hair and fell on his back in a hot, smooth slide. Just the image of Draco casually laying out his items by the bed, by the bed that he would be _sharing with Harry_ , as if it was normal, as if he was perfectly happy sleeping with Harry every night (for the rest of his nights), left Harry hard and aching.

Carefully, he slipped a hand down his stomach, into the thatch of curls and down to his balls with feather light touches. He leaned his head against the cool tiles of the shower, a nice change of temperature from the heat of the water and the heat of his lust. His fingers drifted in between his balls and came up to squeeze around his shaft. It was too much, these images of Draco, and yet not enough, not nearly enough. Imagination had never quite done it for Harry, who needed tactile experience and reassurances at every turn that this was _real_ , this was _lasting_ , this wouldn’t be ripped from his fingertips like _every good thing he had ever had in his life_.

Harry sighed and increased his rhythm. He was close, he was so close he was sure. He closed his eyes. Draco with his shirt off casually lounging near the beach last June. Draco with his hands all over Harry trying to find out where he was ticklish. Draco with his _bloody crooked toothed smile_. Draco with his reading glasses (“Say one word, Potter, and I will blast you all the way back to the Cruciatus period.” “It’s the Cretaceous period, Malfoy.” “Whatever, Potter.”) in bed with a smirk. Draco moaning as he sucked down a blackberry milkshake. Draco who–

“Potter, I swear to god, if you use up all the hot water I _will_ kill you. Again.”

Harry bit his fist as hard as he could to stop from making a sound as his balls tightened painfully and he came all over the wall.

“Potter?” Came Draco’s hesitant voice after a few seconds of Harry panting and trying not to fall down onto his own spunk. “Are you alright? Do I need to come in–”

“All good, Malfoy, I’ll be out in a second,” Harry said frantically, slipping this way and that as he tried to wash away the evidence and his hair at the same time. Merlin’s saggy ball sack, he needed to get himself under control.

Harry could hear music coming from inside the room as he finally turned the water off and towled his hair dry (“Have you ever considered, Potter, that _maybe_ the reason that your hair looks as shockingly bad it does is because you _towel dry it instead of blow drying it_?” “Shove off, Malfoy, you know my hair can’t be helped, it’s genetic!”). Harry pulled on his pants and a sleep shirt, not really wanting to cover up more than that, considering it was already a far cry further than what he usually wore at home.

Carefully, Harry opened the door, realizing he might be witnessing a sight that had never before been seen. Draco was standing in the middle of the room, trousers off–though his pants were, sadly, still on–with his shirt hanging loose and unbuttoned, tube socks up his shins, and his hands striking an air guitar position. He hopped around the room, completely oblivious to Harry, who stood frozen, struck by Draco, _all_ of Draco and, unable to move, remained half hidden behind the door.

“Dancing with myse-elf! And I’m dancing with myse-elf!” Draco belted out the lyrics horribly, and Harry’s heart cried out in agonising longing. Draco’s grin was on full display and Harry’s whole life was being trampled on the floor, oh _god_. And yet, the smile of sheer adoration growing on his face could not be helped. Harry couldn’t lose this, he _couldn’t_.

Draco screamed when he turned and saw Harry a full three minutes later. He hit him over the head with a pillow, beating him backwards onto the bed with a “Potter! I’m going to kill you and then you’ll be dead twice and I’d like to see you come back from this one! Godric’s fucking left tit, warn a bloke!”

Harry was still laughing when Draco gave one more huff and slammed the door to the bathroom shut.

__________________________________________

 

Harry was cold. Harry was freezing actually. Fucking _Draco_ had stolen all the covers. And then rolled up so _adorably_ , into such an inviting little ball, that Harry had no choice but to do absolutely nothing about it and everything about not accidently curling up behind him to latch onto the heat calling his name for the rest of the night. Harry thought he might have a chance to hide his boner-not-morning-wood the next morning if he was facing away from Draco, but if it was right snug up against his arse already? Not bloody well likely.

Harry scrubbed at his face and sighed. Determined to not replay the image of Draco sneaking out of the bathroom to grab his pyjamas wearing only a towel that had stayed on his hips by the _grace of god_ , Harry carefully rolled out of bed and slipped outside onto the balcony to take some gulps of fresh air.

He couldn’t have been out there for more than ten minutes before he heard the sliding door shut behind him and felt the duvet being draped across his shoulders.

“Sorry I’m such a blanket hog,” Draco mumbled into the night, sitting next to Harry and pulling his feet up onto the chair.

“It’s fine,” Harry breathed back. The night around them was still, waiting for the next move, at a stalemate with the universe. Crickets chirped nearby, and the artificial lighting from the pool down below the landing provided a harsh glow to light up their faces. Harry was tempted, oh Merlin mother and Mary was he tempted, to tell Draco how he felt. He was dead tired, and the warmth, _Draco’s_ body warmth, was seeping into him slowly from the blanket. He opened his mouth–

“Are you nervous about tomorrow? Is that why you couldn’t sleep?”

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He frowned a litte. It might not have been the whole truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie either. “I just– I write them a letter. Every year. On who is important in my life, on the things that happened and the milestones I achieved. It’s… it’s nice, you know? I get to communicate with them without pressure and without not knowing what to say. And they are _there_. I know it sounds dumb.” Harry laughed a little and ran his hand through his hair nervously. “But when I’m there, in front of them, I just feel _closer_ somehow. And it grounds me. I can just… be _me_.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair again, but startled slightly when a slightly colder hand caught his gently, softly holding it. Harry glanced up through his fringe at Draco.

“It doesn’t sound dumb at all,” Draco said. And they stayed like that, into the night, side by side, hand in hand. The only sound was the beating of Harry’s pounding heart.

__________________________________________

 

The next morning was a rush of startlingly white bedding flung this way and that, groans and gasps and hurried movements. They had slept through their alarm. Harry couldn’t even remember how he had woken up that morning, what position he was in, whether it was incriminating or not. One moment he was peacefully sleeping, and then next all he was aware of was the time flying out of his grasp.

They made it to the car, slamming their bags in the backseat and squealing out of the parking lot. They lasted a five full minutes before they started laughing.

“Merlin, Potter! It’s not as if we will be late to tea,” Draco said, staring out the window in interest. Harry let out a startled laugh. He was just so _comfortable_ with Draco, with a Draco who felt free to speak his mind, felt comfortable enough to joke with him, a Draco with whom he could _be himself_.

They swung by McDonalds to get breakfast (“McDonalds, Potter? You thought breakfast at _McDonalds_ would suffice?” “Shut up and eat your hashbrowns, Malfoy, I know they’re your guilty pleasure.”), and Harry made sure to get as much food as he could. He wanted an excuse to avoid the conversations from the night before a little longer. He needn't have worried, Draco didn’t seem to think anything of the night before at all (not that this bothered Harry, not at all why would it it wasn’t as if last night had _meant_ anything to him or something goddammit Malfoy). They were soon close to their destination, and in the midst of the sandwich and crisps wrappers discarded in the car (“I feel like such a plebian, Potter.” “Malfoy, we wasted enough time as it is just eat your _roast beef and cranberry brie sandwich and honey mustard crisps_ already.” “Hm. I guess I’m not so plebeian after all.” “Malfoy, you couldn’t be less plebeian if you tried.”), Draco was composing poetry for the things around him.

“Betsy is as wise as she is old, but I wonder if she ever will fold, for her time is ticking, much like a clock, and I would rather that it at all ticked not.”

Harry snorted. “That doesn’t even sound like proper grammar, Malfoy,” he teased.

Malfoy huffed and turned his nose to the sky, his sunglasses falling further up his nose and his hair dangling back. “You’re just jealous, Potter. But don’t worry. I will do you next.” Harry gulped, realizing his mistake about a sentence too late. “Poor, poor Potter. He just keeps getting hotter and hotter! When will it stop? I’d ask the clock! If only his fans wouldn’t maul him.”

Harry’s mouth gaped open, and his sputtering laughs barely made it through. “What the fuck? Malfoy, did you just call me _hot_?” The car was swerving in the road. Harry carefully got it back in control, but he failed to gain control of his heating cheeks.

Draco grinned, and his _fucking_ crooked teeth winked at Harry. “Harry is sometimes oblivious, but his grin is always mischievous. If only he knew, why I am so blue, perhaps the grin would be contagious.”

Harry’s laugher faded away as his blush grew stronger, but before he could ask what Draco had meant, he realized he had already stopped the car. He glanced out of the windshield in front of him.

“We’re here.”

__________________________________________

 

The earth felt cool and grimy against his hands, but for now, it was the only thing that reassured him, kept him grounded. He brushed away the dirt and unfolded the letter in his back pocket, kneeling on the ground with Draco standing behind him.

Methodically, he started to rip his letter apart. He heard the sharp intake of breath from Draco, but Harry kept at it until the shreds fell into place. One by one, the strips of Harry’s life fell into the shallow hole he had dug by the headstone. One by one, Harry felt miniature weights being lifted from his shoulder. He had never needed the reassurance that his actions were important, that they were _right_ , but it calmed him to be able to release every second guess, every doubt, _here_.

The letter was gone, and all there was left to do was wait by the grave until the wind blew each scrap of paper away, blowing away the worries and the false starts, the tears and the upsets. Harry shifted, moving his legs in front of him to hug. He stayed that way for quite a while, and eventually he remembered a presence as it came down to sit beside him, no heed paid to the fine make of the trousers that rubbed against the fresh earth. A head leaned on Harry’s shoulder. Not hindering. Not heavy. Comforting and comfortable. And Harry felt like he could breathe again.

It had been five years and Harry still could not find a rhyme or reason for why this trip meant so much to him. He didn't go on a specific day, just when he could grab a day or so off from work. He didn’t have any true emotion attached to this place (a flash of teeth and skin dripping off scales would tip the emotion scale to _bad_ if anything), no memories of his parents here to carry him through. And yet… the peace he found while here was undeniable. If there was one thing Harry thought Voldemort was right about, it was that _you_ gave power to the places and things around you. They meant _nothing_ until you willed them to mean _something_. And Harry, Harry was willing to give this place, this low run cemetery, _everything_.

__________________________________________

 

The sun drifted down and melting into the horizon while the leaves rustled in the last wave of wind that blew away the last scrap of Harry’s life from the dip in the earth.

All the peace that had possessed Harry’s body for the last several hours left him as he became painfully aware of all the aches and cramps of staying in the same position for so long. He was surprised to become aware of the head still resting on his shoulder; Draco had also not moved the entire time. He had stayed. He hadn’t made a sound. He was kind and constant. Supportive and _good_. And Harry couldn’t bear it any longer.

Harry hadn’t fucking meant to fall in love. _He certainly hadn’t meant to fall this fucking deeply_. And tonight? With the sun setting around them like a fucking romance novel, while the wind seemed to blow them closer together as if his _parents_ would have been okay with this? Would have accepted him and Draco? Even though he didn’t exactly have him in the first place, did he? Who was Harry kidding. He didn’t mean to fall in love that night at the club, but he had been falling deeper in love every night since.

Harry turned to Draco head and pressed a kiss to his hair. It was a desperate, hard kiss, as if it was the only kiss he would ever be able to place on that which he loved most. Draco, to his credit, didn’t start, but turned slowly to face Harry, eyes sad and face accepting. But _fuck_ , how much Harry wanted to kiss the slight frown off of his _beautiful_ face.

“Can we–” Harry stopped short, his voice failing him. He tried again, desperately. “Could we pretend, could we pretend that we’re in love? Just for tonight? Just for a second? Just–”

Draco’s first kiss was as fierce as the wind of the first frost, biting and harsh. His second kiss was as smooth as the river after the thaw, running with energy and filled to the brim. Harry lost count as he caved under Draco and poured everything he was, everything he didn’t think he would ever get to be into the kisses. Harry was drowning, unaware of the sounds he was making and the moans spilling from Draco’s mouth, both swallowed down instantly. Draco’s lips parted and Harry was _not going to miss his chance dammit_ to lick across those beautiful _crooked_ teeth. Hands gripped clothing and hair and necks and backs. Nails bit across skin, and it hurt, this need to feel, this need to control. Harry didn’t know where it was coming from, but he couldn’t _think_ he couldn’t _breathe_ , he could only _be_ here, with Draco.

He had _promised_ himself, had promised himself so clearly, that he wouldn’t let Draco complete him. But Draco utterly and without fail completed every ragged end, every burnt out edge, that Harry held. And Harry held quite a few. They broke and gasped for breath, lips bruised, cheeks pink, and eyes closed.

Harry didn’t know why Draco let him, why he reciprocated, god, Draco wasn’t even _gay_ and Harry had just violated every friendship code there ever was and what if he didn’t, _couldn’t_ find a way to fix this before it was too late, and it was certainly too late with every pant of breath he could feel on his face–

“I’m sorry!” Harry yelled, far too loudly, as he wrenched himself away, falling back on his hands.

Draco’s eyes shot open in surprise. “You can’t tell me–”

“I know! I know!” Harry started crawling away, scrambling for purchase, though he wasn’t sure if it was a ledge in the conversation or on the ground he was searching for. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I didn’t mean that, I wasn’t in control, just being here I just, and then, and we….” Harry watching with growing horror as Draco’s face, god his _beautiful_ and _ruined_ face retreated piece by piece into a familiar and cold composure Harry hadn’t seen put on around him in a very long time. He panicked.

“Draco, please.” A break in the composure, success! “I am so, so sorry. Can we pretend like it never happened? Like I never kissed you? I would do anything to still have you. As a friend. Please?” Harry’s voice broke at the end, and he knew that the tears filling his eyes were not easily disguised.

Draco sighed. It was heavy and hopeless, and the feeling of doom looming in Harry’s stomach somehow was not made brighter at Draco’s answering, decisive nod.

__________________________________________

 

The car ride to the hotel that night was long and silent, Draco taking the keys from Harry’s shaking fingers in the car park, and driving them to the nearby hotel where they had made reservations. The radio played quietly, but Harry couldn’t make himself listen, staring out of the window at the highway signs flashing by. They reminded him of Draco’s eyes. At the hotel they got their keys, two of them this time for two separate rooms, and walked all the way to the rooms without speaking. Draco looked at Harry with a frown, eyebrows taut together. He opened his mouth. And closed it again. He sighed.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry didn’t know how long he stood, staring at the black door to Draco’s room, before he retreated into his own.

__________________________________________

 

The next morning was stilted and awkward, starting from when Draco had gone to the free breakfast buffett without Harry (“I thought you were clever enough to find the buffet on your own, Potter.” “And I thought being _friends_ meant you would wait for me.”) and Harry had gone to gas up the car without telling a panicked Draco where he was going (“Where you just going to fucking leave me, you Asshat?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. I was only filling up the tank.” “Yeah, for an _hour_!” “Fuck off, Malfoy. You obviously can get around by yourself, as you demonstrated this morning.”).

They had _hours_ left on the drive home, and even Betsy seemed to be sensing the tension, as she was sputtering a lot more than usual. Draco was sighing in his seat, tossing and turning as though he couldn’t get far enough away from Harry. Harry was grumbling and gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were turning white.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry said under his breath. Or so he thought, until Draco snapped right back at him.

“What, Potter? What _the fuck_ is wrong?” His eyes were flashing dangerously, and Harry knew he was gearing up for a fight. Well, if it was a fight he wanted, Harry would make sure to please.

“What’s _wrong_ , Malfoy? You want to know what’s fucking wrong?”

“Lay it on me, Potter, let’s have it,” Draco said with a snarl

“Oh I don’t know, Malfoy, I think last night–”

“Oh! You mean the biggest regret of my entire adult life?” Draco said, cutting him off with a painful smirk.

“Christ, Malfoy!” Harry said, hitting the steering wheel. Betsy gave out a small groan. “Are you fucking kidding me? I already said I was sorry! I thought we were fine! And then you go on and ignore me–”

“Me? Ignore the almighty Potter? I would never! Especially after you made your feelings about me so abundantly clear last night–”

“Too fucking far, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted with a growl, ignoring the whines of protest coming from Betsy.

“To far?” Malfoy asked, voice dangerously low. “I didn’t forget you this morning and fucking drive off–”

The argument was paused, as Betsy conveniently lit on fire.

__________________________________________

 

They ended up calling a tow truck after a bit of nifty magic cleared up the smoke and bulging engine. The argument was left on an awkward note, no ground gained or lost, and when the tow truck kicked them out at a hotel in the middle of absolutely nowhere and told them that Betsy, if she survived, would be ready for pick up the next morning (which Harry was pretty sure only because Draco had _bribed_ him, fuck he couldn’t get away from Harry fast enough), Draco stalked off muttering under his breath about taking a walk.

Harry turned towards the hotel. He sighed abruptly, running a hand through his hair and went in. The receptionist was a younger looking girl, black hair with piercings… well, everywhere. She reminded Harry a little of Pansy.

Especially in the way she barley paid any attention to him as he walked up to the reception desk, but had definity witnessed what had gone on outside. “Er, hullo. Do you have two single rooms available for one night?”

A loud smack of gum. “Nope,” she said, popping her p.

Harry blinked. “Okay… How about a double room?” He winced. Her only reply was another pop and another blank stare.

“Yeah, okay, how about–” The girl cut him off holding a singular key dangling from the large wooden block it was attached to so guests wouldn’t lose their keys.

“You’ll thank me later,” she said in a voice void of any friendly customer service.

“I’m sure I will,” Harry muttered under his breath.

The room was small, but cosy, and Harry flopped down on the single, full sized bed. It was time to make things right between him and Draco. Harry couldn’t lose him. He _couldn’t_. Rubbing at his face, Harry dug through his pockets for the coin that he used to use to communicate with Ron and Hermione, the second half of which he had given to Draco (“I don’t understand why you won’t get a cellphone, Malfoy.” “Why use a ‘phone’ when magic is much more straightforward? Without all these extra gadgets.” “Fine, then take this at least, prat.”).

_Is there somewhere you can meet me?_

He only had to wait a few seconds before he felt the response.

_I’m coming up to the room now. We should talk._

Harry didn’t like his odds, but he was ready to sacrifice a great deal to be friends with Draco once more. _God_ , he couldn’t even last one day without him. How pathetic. He sent the room number to Draco, letting him know the room was unlocked.

Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed when a gentle knock came on the door.

Draco peeked his head through first, before his body glided effortlessly and silently in behind him. The door closed.

“Small room, huh?” Draco said, looking around.

“Only one they had,” Harry said glumly.

Draco’s jaw worked. “Look, Harry–”

“Don’t,” Harry begged softly, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t… the name… it’s too much.”

His eyes opened and Draco’s eyes flashed. “I know you are still upset with me, Potter, but you don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“Malfoy it’s not–” Harry ran both hands through his hair vigorously and stood up, pacing. “Look, I know what I did was too much, okay? I know I shouldn’t have kissed you, but I have been trying not to ever since the club, and–”

Draco’s hands were suddenly on Harry’s mouth and he went cross eyed trying to look at them. Draco’s face, however, was _furious_. His eyes flickered back and forth between Harry’s, as if deciding whether or not he trusted what he was seeing.

“Potter. Do I have this fucking straight? You have wanted to kiss me since the club that we went to _five fucking months ago_ , had the opportunity, threw it the _fuck_ away, only to–” and here Draco took the pains to draw out that word as long as he could, “– _apologize_ for the fucking kiss that we have both wanted for literal ages?” Draco took his hands off of Harry’s mouth. Harry swallowed. Draco’s posh accent was always heightened in his rage, and Harry felt (fuck, not now) his trousers getting tighter. “Speak,” Draco commanded.

“You aren’t gay?” Harry said, the words coming out as a question.

Draco growled. “You, Harry, are a fucking idiot.” Draco’s mouth covered Harry’s in a hot brand that had Harry falling down only to be caught by Draco. “And I am most _certainly_ gay.” Harry clutched his arms and held on tight, saving himself from falling. He was being walked backwards, though he was barely aware. He was barely aware of anything that was not Draco’s tongue against his, Draco’s scent surrounding him, Draco’s honey taste, Draco’s breathless moans and groans, Draco’s length pressed up against his own, Draco, Draco, Draco. He could feel Draco’s fingers, one by one, exploring under his shirt until he pushed it off over his head with a whine. Draco let out a strangled gasp and fell on top of Harry onto the bed.

He was an idiot, Harry decided, if he had never thought to ask for _this_ before.

__________________________________________

 

The next morning was a slow move of creme white bedding floating this way and that, moans and gasps and soft, unhurried movements.

Harry was aware of a softness, a giddiness, that had never been there before. He was aware of the gentle kisses and startling innocent smiles. The morning passed with whispered words, willowed breaths, and warm promises. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, and Draco was an angel with a halo around his hair. Harry had never been so in love.

The next morning was a rediscovery. Truths and secrets, wishes and hopes. Explanations ebbed and flowed while lost time was made up for. Work calls were ignored, and they barely left bed long enough to ease the minds of worried friends and make their inquiries about Betsy (who, as strong as she might have been, needed a few more days at the mechanic before she was ready to travel. Which was, of course, fine with Harry and Draco).

It was an ending, of sorts, Harry thought, just as much as it was a beginning. Harry looked down lovingly at Draco’s lips hanging heavy, just beneath him. And as all proper endings should, it ended with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3


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